


Fleeting Love

by yeterah



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, also kieran is smol now, arthur has the highest of honor here :), hackerman, i added cheat codes, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeterah/pseuds/yeterah
Summary: Kieran Duffy and Arthur Morgan: set up to be the fiercest of enemies, and yet they become the most passionate of lovers.





	Fleeting Love

**Author's Note:**

> uh HEY RED DEAD FANDOM
> 
> i had to get this out after my boys' fates. :( i am also kierthur starved 
> 
> please enjoy this angst i made for you. :D

 

 

Arthur woke up some time after five, where overcast weather, bitter cold air, and hush awaited him. The cold didn't help Arthur none, but the quiet did; something he fancied about waking up earlier than most of the gang. He could get a piece of mind out of the quiet, which was something that he typically didn't get living with twenty or more people. Dutch, Hosea, and Charles were all awake too, but only just.

  
  


Arthur allows himself a decent stretch and a good yawn before he gets out of bed, beginning his day like any other: with a cup of Joe. He finds it a little odd when he finds solace in watching it brew.

  
  


His coffee is ready when time passes a little more. Arthur puts a few sugar cubes in it to spice it up, but it still tastes like sweetened water. He shrugs it off; he supposes bad coffee is better than no coffee. He helps himself, pulling up a chair next to the warm fire and closing his half-lidded eyes, drowning in the quiet while it's still there.

  
  


A light snore from the distance draws him out of it though.

  
  


Arthur hadn't known until his eyes bucked open, but he was facing the gang captive: the O'Driscoll. He got agitated looking at the boy, for the obvious reasons and because the boy interrupted the only moment of peace he'll get today. But upon really looking, he felt something different.

  
  


The O'Driscoll looked gaunt and malnourished. Through the cotton fabric of his muddied white shirt, you can see his ribcage. He looks worthless, hunched over to the right with his head well down.

  
  


Empathy hits Arthur and it confuses him. Since when did he start feeling remorse for O'Driscolls? But he gives himself the benefit of the doubt; that boy was a hellish sight. Maybe Mary-Beth influenced him, for she was always sweet on that boy, O'Driscoll though he is.

  
  


Whatever it was, something was telling Arthur to be mild on the boy, however ghastly the prospect is.

  
  


He sits his mug aside and reaches in his satchel. He'll start by giving the little man a bite to eat. Arthur didn't fancy looking at the boy's ribcage too much.

  
  


He stands from his chair and walks toward the O'Driscoll, though he has to take a few looks around before approaching.

  
  


"Hey—" Arthur slaps the O'Driscoll across his sunken cheek, jolting him into consciousness. The boy looks ready to jump out of his skin at Arthur being there until a roll of bread is shoved in his face.

  
  


"Here," says Arthur. "Eat that."

  
  


The O'Driscoll has the nerve to get confused. "W—What?"

  
  


"Eat the damn bread, boy," Arthur bites. "Go on."

  
  


The O'Driscoll complies then, tentatively taking a bite. He chews slow, in a manner of disbelief and to savour each bite, though Arthur hasn't the time nor the patience to be waiting on him like that. The boy doesn't even get a moment to swallow what's in his mouth before Arthur shoves the rest down his throat.

  
  


Arthur points a finger in the O'Driscoll's face, wearing a scowl. "You ain't get that from me, you hear?"

  
  


The O'Driscoll whimpered and nodded, mouth swollen with bread.

  
  


Arthur nodded then, going back to where he came. He faces his chair away from the boy however; he's lost some dignity, and the shame he felt was very evident on his face.

  
  


\---

  


Arthur quickly got used to Horseshoe Overlook, and to other things. He was beginning to warm to the posse of outlaws around him again, and even to the O'Driscoll boy, now a new addition to the Van Der Linde gang. Arthur finds it appalling that he still feels no meanness toward the boy, but maybe he can't be surly and mean to everybody. The boy has also saved his life at Six Point's Cabin, so perhaps he did deserve some cordiality.

  
  


In fact, Arthur uses this fact to justify his urge to go looking for the boy after his long ride back home. It's occurred to him that he hasn't thanked the O'Driscoll yet. Hadn't got a proper introduction either. Arthur still thinks it unseemly that he wants one.

  
  


It takes him a little bit to find the kid however. Hosea has asked him what he'd been looking for twice, though each time Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to give an answer.

  
  


The boy was somewhere Arthur didn't think to look. He was perched up against a rock in the woodland just outside of camp. He looked.. lonely.. and very invested in the piece of wood he was carving.

  
  


Arthur crosses his arms, watching the boy for a minute. "You ain't got nothing better to do, O'Driscoll?"

  
  


The boy jumps up with a gasp, hands flying behind his back.

  
  


"I—I've tended the horses, like y'all asked of me," he answers, his voice wobbly. "Did it three times over. B—But I did notice that the tables were a little dirty— I'll go and wipe them down."

  
  


The boy tries to scurry past Arthur and into camp, though he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulders. "Calm down, kid. I'm just messin' with you," Arthur chuckles.

  
  


The tension in the boy's posture wanes at that, though he still looks like a rabbit in front of a snake. "Right."

  
  


Arthur cants his head at the boy, who is tiny and lithe compared to Arthur's disposition, and much shorter. "What're you doin' over here anyway?" Arthur asks. "Hiding away like a thief in the night. You tryna run off, boy?"

  
  


"N—No sir, not at all," the boy whimpers. "Only this is the only spot where I can get me a piece o' mind.. i—if you don't mind me saying.. Sir."

  
  


Arthur had to chuckle at his act. He moves past the boy to take his spot at the boulder. "'Sir' has a name, you know," he teases. "Please, call me Arthur."

  
  


"Yessir," the boy nods. "Arthur."

  
  


Arthur sits down and pats a spot on the ground by him; a prompt for the boy to come and sit. "And what do I call you?" he asks. "Seeing that I never really got your name."

  
  


The boy moves with hesitation. "Kieran, sir," he says. "Kieran Duffy." He sits a little ways from Arthur, in a way that suggests he wants to have distance between them.

  
  


Arthur quickly closes that space however, just to scare him because he finds the boy's intimidation hysterical. "Kieran Duffy," he repeats. "Well, sorry to disturb you, Kieran, only I want me a piece of mind too."

  
  


"You're fine," Kieran replies, eyes fixed on the piece of wood in his hands. He continues to slice at it, rigid as ever.

  
  


"What's that you're carving there?" Arthur asks after staring at it for a moment.

  
  


Kieran shrugs. "Just.. trying to waste time," he answers. "I don't fancy having nothing to do— that is, I can't sit still for too long."

  
  


"Huh. Maybe you shoulda' cleaned them tables after all." He digs into his back pocket for a cigarette. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

  
  


Kieran shakes his head. "No, not at all."

  
  


Arthur offers him one, though he doesn't accept it. Arthur leaves it there then, helping himself.

  
  


"So," he begins, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I never.. thanked you.. for saving my life."

  
  


Kieran finally looks up from his sculpture. "At Six Point's Cabin, you mean?"

  
  


"Of course."

  
  


Arthur's never seen Kieran get so bright-eyed. "Well, of course, sir," he says. "Don't think it would've been right to let you die like that. I never really liked that fella' either. No sir, he was.. just another Colm, I guess."

  
  


"How'd you end up with Colm?" Arthur asks then, genuinely curious.

  
  


Kieran pauses at the question. He expected an interrogation and not an interview. "W—Well, I ran into them after I fell out of another gang. I was forced to join them, in a way— well.. they told me to join them or die, and there wasn't much of a choice for me. Colm let me tend the horses, knowin’ I know plenty about horses, but that was 'bout it. Wasn't really anybody in that gang. Don't think any man was, seeing that Colm cares about numbers more."

  
  


"And has there been much of an improvement?" Arthur smiled. "Going from Colm to this lot?"

  
  


Kieran's eyes fell, a hint of irritation in his visage. "I would say so if my life weren't threatened every day."

  
  


He mumbled it, like if he said it out loud, he'd get a beating. Arthur didn't beat him though, just laughed into his cigarette. He was fully aware of how much the gang harassed Kieran, and found it funny more than unkind. "I wish I knew what to tell you, kid."

  
  


Kieran went back to carving nothing. Arthur got a sense by the way he was carving that his unwillingness to do something about his bullies put a sour taste in his mouth.

  
  


"Hey, look on the bright side," Arthur smirked, flinging an arm around Kieran's narrow shoulders. "At least _I_ like you."

  
  


"Hey Arthur! Come here a second."

  
  


Hosea called for him by the horses. Arthur puts his cigarette out under his boot and takes his leave. He's sure he was being crazy, but he felt eyes on him as he walked away.

  
  


"I wanna tell you about this colossal bear I spotted up in the eastern Grizzlies," Hosea began when Arthur got close enough. "I think it's worth a shot!"

  
  


"Sure," Arthur beamed, expecting Hosea to gush all about it, but he canted his head at him instead.

  
  


"I never thought I'd see you natter away with an O'Driscoll," he whispers, giggling.

  
  


Arthur shrugs then. "I guess I've changed my tune."

  
  


* * *

 

  


Pinkertons and O'Driscolls were becoming a problem once again at Horseshoe Overlook, so the gang was forced to set up camp someplace else. They went to a place called Clemen's Point, where there was plenty of land, and a decent spot to defend, according to Charles. It was also hot, humid, and flooded with peculiar southerners still raving about the Civil War, but what could the gang do about hot weather and ignorance?

  
  


Arthur skipped coffee that morning, alternatively forcing himself to do chores around camp. He woke up with his mind a little muddied and he figured that would clear it a little. It also gives him satisfaction that it'll be taking the workload off of some others.

  
  


By the time he's got to the last of the chores, he's tired and ready to get off of his feet. Thankfully, the last place that needed to be altered was near a fireplace. It was also by Kieran; something Arthur found comfort in knowing now. He's seemed to have warmed to Kieran a great deal ever since their chat at their former lookout.

  
  


Arthur was on his way to give the last bale of hay to the last team of horses that needed it before he was stopped by Kieran. "Oh— I coulda' done that."

  
  


"No, it's alright. I got it." Arthur continued on, despite Kieran attempting to take the bale from him. Arthur placed it next to a shrub and lets out a big sigh when he finds he has nothing else to do but rest.

  
  


Kieran hummed. "Tired, huh?" he giggles. "You've been scurryin' around camp all mornin'."

  
  


Arthur snorts. "I am, and yes, I sure have." He sits down next to his friend by the fire. They're shoulder-to-shoulder, and Arthur finds an odd solace in it, for a reason he hasn't unearthed yet.

  
  


"I would've helped, y'know," says Kieran. "I don't mind."

  
  


"Nah, you do enough already," Arthur insisted.

  
  


Kieran looks off, fiddling with his fingers. Arthur has noticed he does that when his nerves get frayed. "That's true, for some folk," he mumbles.

  
  


Arthur knew exactly what he meant. "I'm sorry you haven't.. exactly found your place here yet," he frowns. "I know Dutch and them'll come ‘round eventually."

  
  


Kieran smirks at his feet. "You ain't gotta' to lie to me, Mr. Morgan— I know they won't," he says. "But it's real nice to hear you say that. You been real kind to me ever since I came here."

  
  


Arthur hums. "Well, somebody's gotta' do it."

  
  


Kieran finally lets his smile shine through. Arthur doesn't fail to notice how his cheeks beam with a slight red, and how bright and open his slate-like eyes get when they talk.

  
  


His thin brow curls in thought. "Y'know," he begins. "We never talk about you none. I reckon we talk about everything but you."

  
  


"What's there to talk about?" Arthur snorts. "I ain't nobody. Don't worry about me."

  
  


"But I do worry about ya'," Kieran insists. "What's on your mind and such."

  
  


Now it's Arthur's turn to blush. His hand goes to rub his neck. "Well, if you must know, there's plenty on my mind, even now," he says. "But it's a bunch of.. silly nonsense. I won't waste your time with it."

  
  


"Waste my time, then," Kieran beams, putting his head in his hands. "Go on."

  
  


That boy'll get Arthur beet-red if he doesn't stop. "Well, I—.." Arthur rubs his neck again; he's definitely not keen on opening up, but Kieran is adamant. "I guess I been thinking about.. my purpose here— our purpose here."

  
  


Kieran's brows furrow. "How you mean?"

  
  


"I dunno, exactly," says Arthur, picking at his hands now. "Just wondering if this is really what we've been put on earth to do, this bunch, being outlaws. I know we're in too deep to change this, especially me, but.. sometimes I feel like I lose the point of all this.. if there is one. I can only assume. What I fear most is that there isn't one and.. I'm just a sad old fool who's been killing for nothing. That Dutch's idea of a utopia is an excuse for being a.. murderer."

  
  


Arthur looked up from his hands, at Kieran. The kid looked puppy-eyed and desolate. It made Arthur withdraw.

  
  


He clears his throat, straightens up. "Sorry— I didn't mean to make you upset."

  
  


"It's alright," Kieran reassures. "I appreciate it actually. This is the most open you've ever been with me."

  
  


Arthur chuckled at that comment, despite feeling exposed in a way. Bill called for him then, him and Karen and Lenny perched up at the wagon. Something about a bank heist in Valentine.

  
  


"Excuse me, Kieran." Arthur took his leave.

  
  


"Wait— Arthur?"

  
  


When Arthur turns to face his friend, he's met with an empathetic smile.

  
  


"Next time, don't hesitate to tell me what's on your mind," Kieran says. "I'm always here. Remember that."

  
  


Arthur couldn't have felt more flattered. He nods and continues his way to Bill. On his way to Valentine, he's hushed, for the first time in a long time, someone made his heart flutter.

  
  


\---

  


Dusk has always been Arthur's favorite time of day. He saw streaks of purple, pink, and yellow in the sky, and what complemented it was the cirrus clouds and the calm lake below it. Arthur thought it was right to take a moment to get lost in nature's beauty after fishing for a moment. Just him and the landscape.

  
  


He hears slow footsteps behind him— probably Dutch or Hosea come to gaze with him.

  
  


"Howdy."

  
  


It's Kieran. Arthur beams.

  
  


"Hey there."

  
  


Kieran joins him at the shore, like Dutch or Hosea, come to enjoy the scenery. "Pretty, ain't it?"

  
  


Arthur smiles. "Yes sir. I been sat here a good minute just.. looking. What you been up to?"

  
  


"Oh, not much," Kieran answers, tracing his feet in the soot below. "Been tending the horses. They've been through a lot. I oughta' fix them a poultice to cure them some, but I need some burdock root."

  
  


"I can get you some," Arthur offers. "While I'm out."

  
  


"Would you?" Kieran smiles. "Thank you."

  
  


They share a moment longer together, watching the sun go down and the birds recline back to their nests. The clouds move slow and the sky is getting more violet by the minute.

  
  


"You made me sad the other day," says Kieran. "Making me wonder what this was all for."

  
  


"Oh, Kieran, you shouldn't pay me no mind," Arthur smirks. "I'm a old and sad man who knows nothing more than killing and stealing."

  
  


Kieran looks away from the landscape then, at Arthur, with a look on his face that the latter man can't quite decipher. "Not to me, Mr. Morgan," he says. "You're the finest man I know."

  
  


"Then you don't know me at all," Arthur dismisses.

  
  


Kieran gives him a sad smile before looking away. Arthur never does.

  
  


The tension in him is swelling, more so than ever now, and it wants to blow. He tries to ignore it, tries to tear his eyes away, or get his legs to move away, but Kieran has Arthur hungry, wanting more.

  
  


Arthur pulls Kieran in by the waist, their lips smashing together. One man kisses with unmistakable vigor and want, and the other just whimpers, hands unsure of where to go.

  
  


Arthur pulls away. Kieran gasps when he does. Their hats are lopsided and they're panting against one another's lips.

  
  


"I'm sorry, Kieran," Arthur says, low enough for only the latter man to hear. "I'm so, so sorry."

  
  


He lets Kieran go and scurries off, filled with shame and embarrassment. Then Kieran calls from behind him: "I forgive you!"

  
  


Arthur thinks it's just pity. He trudged on.

  
  


\---

  


Clemen's Point is vast. Arthur has decided to distance himself from Kieran, to cut any ties they had before. He thinks it's for the best. Kieran has made no effort to change that, which is all the more reason to steer clear. Arthur often blames it all on himself.

  
  


They don't interact at all until Dutch has moved the gang again, to Shady Belle, and even then it's just stolen glances.

  
  


* * *

 

  


Little Jack has been taken from them; the Braithwaites snatched him up and took him to Saint Denis, to Angelo Bronte. It's terrible business; everyone's nerves are frayed, especially Abigail and John's. Who could blame them though? Arthur's been nervous and uptight himself, though he fears it isn't just because the boy's been taken.

  
  


He figured distancing himself from Kieran would eradicate any torch he held for him, but it seems it's fanned the fire. He even remembers getting jealous after seeing Bill try to advance on him.

  
  


This is a battle Arthur cannot win. Kieran has bewitched his mind and body, and he thinks he may have to try at their relationship again. To see what he can salvage out of what's left.

  
  


He gets up from his bed then, supposing that maybe one way to start is to apologize for crossing a line. It was a month ago, but it didn't hurt.

  
  


Arthur emerges from his room only to find he doesn't have to go through the trouble of finding Kieran; he's just across the hall in Mary-Beth and Karen's room. Kieran won't know he's there until Arthur says something.

  
  


In fact, he says nothing at all, just clears his throat.

  
  


Kieran immediately sees him. "Oh!" he jumps.  "Arthur."

  
  


Arthur steps away from his door frame, closer to the latter man. "Howdy, Kieran."

  
  


"I—.. I didn't see you there," Kieran huffs, shifting back a little.

  
  


Arthur stops at this. "No," he says. He grabs his belt, to keep from fidgeting, because his stomach has sunk to the floor. "I, uh.. what're you doing up here? Only I thought you slept outside."

  
  


"I was returning something to Mary-Beth," Kieran answers, playing with his fingers. "She's been helping me with my readin'."

  
  


Arthur nods. "I see." He tries desperately to start conversation, and to not scare Kieran off. "I.. noticed the horses are doing pretty well."

  
  


"Uh—yes, yes they are," Kieran smiles, though Arthur can tell it isn't very genuine. "That poultice worked. I appreciate you gettin' me that burdock root."

  
  


"Don't mention it."

  
  


They're hushed for a moment, unable to look each other in the eye.

  
  


"B—Been a while since we talked," Kieran says, suddenly.

  
  


Arthur swallows. "It has," he concurs. "How've you been?"

  
  


Kieran shrugs, the most honest gesture he's done since they started speaking. "Fine, I guess," he says. For a moment, he finally looks up from his feet and up to Arthur. "You?"

  
  


Arthur shrugs too. "I'm living."

  
  


Kieran's body slumps. "You're upset about Jack, ain't ya'?"

  
  


Arthur sighs. It isn't entirely that, but he doesn't want to contradict Kieran. "I'm wretched 'bout Jack."

  
  


"Me too," Kieran frowns, about ready to whine. "Because I shoulda' known that those Braithwaites were comin' to take that boy. I thought they were there for business since you boys was dealing with them but I never thought—"

  
  


"Kieran, it ain't your fault," Arthur steps closer. "Nobody knew. We'll just have to get him back, and we're working on that."

  
  


Kieran sighs then, letting his hands fall to his sides. "It's just so terrible," he insists.

  
  


This time, Arthur sympathizes. "It is," he says. "If we lose that boy, I don't think anyone could see their way 'round it, especially Abigail and John."

  
  


Kieran looked at Arthur, once again with an expression the latter man could not decipher. It makes adrenaline pump through Arthur's veins when Kieran steps closer— significantly closer.

  
  


"I wish you knew how much I wanna help," he says, just for Arthur.

  
  


Arthur stares back at Kieran, his eyes a testing teal. "I know you do."

  
  


The space between them slowly but surely closes, as one man eases their hands up the latter's arms and to his shoulders while the other grips tight at their lower back. Their lips meet finally, a testing push and pull of flesh before one break turns it into vigorous presses.

  
  


Arthur lifts Kieran by the legs, and Kieran isn't slow to wrap his long legs around his lover's waist.

  
  


"I missed you," Arthur rasps against Kieran's lips, and his beau whimpers at this, as if it pains him to hear it.

  
  


"I missed you too," he responds, and their lips meet again, desperate and wanting.

  
  


Arthur totes Kieran to his room, and the rest of the night was lost to a streak of lavender.

  
  


\---

  


If one were to step foot in Arthur's room, they'd have a scandal for the history books. Clothes were strewn about the floor, and the skinniest of men and burliest of men were sharing a bed together, as bare as the day they were born. The room still smelled of what had transpired even long after they’ve calmed down, and another crack was added to Arthur's walls;  the headboard had slapped so hard against the wall so many times, the wall behind it began to give out. All of this mess, yet Kieran and Arthur seemed to pay no mind to it. They were too busy gazing into each other's eyes with proud smiles.

  
  


Arthur lain on top of Kieran, who didn’t mind all of that weight on him. Arthur's calloused hand sweetly caressed thin hair out of Kieran's face. He beamed even more when his lover began keening into the touches.

  
  


"Looks like you've had your way with me," says Arthur, and they both start giggling like schoolgirls.

  
  


After calming down, Arthur had finally relieved Kieran of his weight, falling beside him. Enough adjusting in bed and soon they were pulled close together, Kieran's back against Arthur's chest and Arthur's arms wrapped around Kieran's waist. Arthur couldn't help but to plant lazy kisses all over the back of his lover's neck.

  
  


"So, listen," Kieran began, smiling. "Y'know what you had said a long time ago? 'Bout the outlaw thing?"

  
  


The kisses stopped. "Oh, Kieran, I told you not to worry about that."

  
  


"No, listen," Kieran insisted. "You said this way of life ain't gonna last, so I was thinkin'.. we cut loose and.. start a life of our own."

  
  


Arthur sat up then, looking at his beau with bucked eyes. "What?"

  
  


Kieran flipped on his back to face him. "Hear me out," he began. "We could go get a horse ranch somewhere, or a farm, or whatever we fancy, somewhere away from here. We'll go back to New Hanover or.. to Ambarino.. somewhere, and we make a livin’. We can change our names and live happily together."

  
  


Arthur gets speechless for a moment. Kieran was quite a visionary, and a dreamer. "What about.. Dutch and the rest of it? Pinkertons? O'Driscolls? What if someone comes lookin' for us?"

  
  


"Then you'll know what to do," Kieran goes to cup Arthur's cheek. "I ain't worried about my safety 'cause I got you. The only thing that matters to me now is to be with you."

  
  


Arthur's distraught. "I.. I don't know what to say."

  
  


"Don't say nothin'," Kieran pokes his lover's nose. "Just get it done."

  
  


"Are you sure you want that?"

  
  


Kieran scoffs. "Of course I want that, you silly sod," he giggles. His hands go up to Arthur's shoulders. "Do _you_ want that?"

  
  


"Well," Arthur chuckles. "I s'pose I'd do anything to be with you. I'll just have to tell Dutch and Hosea—"

  
  


"No, don't tell no one," Kieran interjects. "They won't let you go."

  
  


Arthur furrows his brow. "Kieran, I can't sneak off like a thief in the night."

  
  


"Please, Arthur," Kieran cups Arthur's face. "Don't tell nobody— not Dutch, Hosea, or any livin’ soul. They might keep you from me, and I don't want nothin' stoppin' me being your man. At least write to 'em, when we're fixed."

  
  


Arthur has to chuckle. "You really do want me, don't you?"

  
  


"I don't 'want' you, Mr. Morgan, I love you," Kieran whispers.

  
  


Arthur shakes himself. He grabs his lover's hand and gives it a kiss. "Kieran Duffy," he marvels. "I do not deserve you."

  
  


"Well," Kieran begins, about to giggle. "Whether you deserve me or not, you have me, and that's all that matters."

  
  


"And you have me," Arthur kisses the soft skin on Kieran's hand again. "Always."

  
  


They share one last kiss— their gentlest yet— before both get tired and decide to rest. Kieran is the first to fall asleep, cuddled and warm in Arthur's brute-like arms, and soon Arthur follows, holding Kieran like a child would a teddy bear.

  
  


\---

  


The sun hit just right in Arthur's room, just enough to make it unbearably bright. Arthur doesn't open his eyes immediately, not until he feels a cool breeze as opposed to a warm and lithe body. He opened his eyes and it was what he had silently feared: Kieran was gone.

  
  


Arthur sits up then, yawning wide and giving his trimmed beard a scratch. Odd how Kieran just left like that, but maybe it isn't as bad as Arthur's imagining. He could be nowhere but outside. With that, Arthur got dressed, putting on different clothes and didn’t bother picking up the strewn clothes on the floor.

  
  


Arthur looked around the house just to be sure, and when not finding him there, he went outside. There was Lenny, Mr. Pearson, Charles, Javier— the typical band of folk outside, but not Kieran. Arthur thought he was being foolish; he's not looking hard enough. One thing he remembers his lover is very good at is hiding.

  
  


He looks in the worn gazebo, but finds he isn't there either. He takes a turn about the house, looking in the barn, at the swamp house, by the horses, and Kieran's nowhere to be found.

  
  


Arthur starts to get confused. He looks around Shady Belle again, in the same places, and still no sign of Kieran. He even goes into his room to see if he'd magically show up.

  
  


He goes downstairs again, looks in the sitting areas. His nerves are getting frayed. He can't find Kieran for some reason..

  
  


"Arthur, are you looking for something?"

  
  


It's Hosea, came in with a cup of coffee. Arthur wants to be coy, but the look on Hosea's face makes him want to be honest. He has to calm down before saying it though; his nerves are all over the place and he's beginning to think the worse.

  
  


"Have you seen Kieran?" he asks, trying to sound calm.

  
  


"Kieran?" Hosea cants his head. "The O'Driscoll?"

  
  


"Yes, Hosea, the O'Driscoll. Have you seen him?"

  
  


Hosea knows Arthur too damn well. His brows draw close. "Arthur, are you alright?"

  
  


"Fine," Arthur urges. "Kieran. Please. Where is he?"

  
  


"Well, I don't know," answers Hosea. "I haven't seen him all morning."

  
  


Arthur's stomach drops below the earth.

  
  


Hosea could see this. He puts his cup down. "Do you.. want me to help you find him?"

  
  


"That would be greatly appreciated."

  
  


They scurry about the entire estate, looking in the same places to no avail. Kieran is nowhere to be found and Arthur's got so worried it's caused Hosea command the entire camp to try to find him. This doesn't help none though; after twenty people searching for Kieran and come back with nothing, it's certain that he is lost, and Arthur hasn't a clue where he could've gone.

  
  


But then Mary-Beth's scream alerts the whole camp. Everyone gawks at what comes in on horseback.

  
  


A decapitated man with his head planted perfectly in his tied-up hands.

  
  


Arthur notices it looks like Kieran.

  
  


It is Kieran.

  
  


* * *

 

  


Arthur hasn't done much but cry. The girls— Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth try their hardest to get him to eat, but he refuses to touch a lick of food. Hosea brings him some water to help calm his nerves but he's adamant; he'll drink nothing and eat nothing. Countless gang members have gone up to try and calm him, but Arthur won't have it. As soon as he hears a knock at the door, he screams at whoever's there to "fuck off".

  
  


Days after the event, Arthur is still staining his pillow with the salt of his tears. He cries in the dark, though this time he doesn't wail like he did before. He lays down flat on his back and lets the tears ooze out. He can't stop crying either. The grief he feels is endless.

  
  


It's late at night (Arthur doesn't know the specific time— he's lost track of it), so he's sure he'll be left alone. Everyone has given up on trying to make him feel better.

  
  


But then there's a knock at his door.

  
  


"Fuck off!" he screams, voice broken and rasped. "I mean it! Go!"

  
  


"It's Hosea," says the voice behind the door.

  
  


"I don't give a damn if it's the goddamn Pope of Rome," Arthur replies. "Leave me be."

  
  


"Arthur, please," Hosea insists. "I haven't seen my boy in days. Will you please let me in?"

  
  


Arthur swallows, his throat feeling like the desert itself. He truly doesn't want to be bothered, but he gets up nonetheless. His walk is slow and desolate— even he can feel that. It's almost as if he floats to the door. Eventually he unlocks and opens it.

  
  


Hosea looks just as sad as Arthur, if not more, but how can that be so?

  
  


Arthur goes back to his bed as soon as the door's opened. Hosea steps in then, a bowl of stew in his hands. He shuts the door behind him, and locks it.

  
  


"I won't eat it," Arthur says after seeing what Hosea's brought. "I ain't hungry."

  
  


"I've seasoned it myself this time, so it won't taste like shit," says Hosea, smiling, though Arthur's depression has consumed him; he cannot smile, laugh, or do any of it.

  
  


The old man’s shoulders slump. "At least try to eat, my boy." He sits the bowl gently in Arthur's lap, giving him a spoon out of his pocket. While Arthur tries, Hosea has pulled up a chair in front of him.

  
  


"We got the boy back," Hosea informs. "Angelo Bronte is an Italian 'Mr. Big' according to Dutch, and we want to keep in touch with him. Me and Dutch thinks there's definitely something we can get out of Saint Denis and the rest of the aristocracy there."

  
  


"Hosea, I really don't think I'm feeling up to talking about this right now."

  
  


Hosea falls silent then, nodding. He understands.

  
  


Arthur picks at a piece of beef inside the stew, just picking, but not eating. Hosea looks at him with sorrow. Though he doesn't want to just stare at his depressed boy; he came to alleviate his pain and not to watch it swell.

  
  


"You loved him, didn't you?"

  
  


Arthur stared down at his stew. Hosea's the only one that knows, about Arthur's true colors. He suspected since he was a boy, and it's been long confirmed.

  
  


A lonesome tear dropped from Arthur's eye and into his stew. He quickly wiped his eyes. "I don't think it matters much now," he said, voice choked.

  
  


"Well," Hosea begins. "It does to his memory."

  
  


Arthur looks up then, a wave of sadness hitting him hard at his next thought. "You know something, Hosea?" he whimpered. "We was gonna run off together. To wherever we wanted. We were gonna have a horse ranch, just the two of us. Gonna change our names and everything."

  
  


Hosea gave Arthur a sad smile, even as his boy began crying some more.

  
  


"I know you and Dutch would've killed me," Arthur jokes, trying his hardest to erase his endless tears.

  
  


"What me and Dutch want doesn't matter," Hosea reassured.

  
  


Arthur nodded, a smile pulling at his lips. "He was so.. sweet and kind, that Kieran," he went on. "He was my gentle buffoon."

  
  


The time they went fishing came back to Arthur then in a daze. He was raving when he caught that bluegill, and to celebrate, they made an outing of it, relaxing by the lake and talking until the cows came home.

  
  


Suddenly Arthur got angry. He groaned and more tears oozed out of his worn eyes. "He did not deserve that, Hosea," he gritted out. "We gotta' make sure those bastards pay for what they did."

  
  


"Don't focus on that, my boy," Hosea puts his hand on his knee. "You just focus on his memory. You could lose that trying to find something to blame."

  
  


Arthur doesn't try to argue against that, just nods. He wipes his tears some more, but only more follow, especially after his next thought.

  
  


"Hosea,” he whimpers. “ Why does it seem like everyone I've ever loved is taken from me?"

  
  


Hosea just looks at him, looking terribly sympathetic and desolate. This only drives Arthur to crying even more, this time finally letting himself wail. Hosea gets up from his chair then, removing the bowl of stew and joining him on the bed. He hugs him tight, and Arthur lets him, holding him too and burying his head into Hosea's hollow shoulder.

  
  


"Life is testing you, my boy," Hosea says. "But this'll only make you stronger."

  
  


Arthur answers with a harder cry, and Hosea answers with an even tighter hold.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are fucking AWESOME


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